


Through Flesh

by Sjukdom



Series: Penance & Pain [5]
Category: Gotham (TV), Would You Rather (2012)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim was taught hard to obey orders and accepted the latest one - to come here on his own to have a Sunday dinner with Oswald, Julian and their step family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Flesh

Through Flesh

Everything turned the opposite of itself. The night sky was bleak like skin of a drowned man that had been lying underwater for too long until currents washed away the remains of living colors. The time ran fast, but there was the end of it and one could feel it like an abyss that waited ahead. And Jim walked alone. He got so used to being led that felt himself hopeless and despaired. Like a dog freed from a leash and collar and left by its master in a great unknown world, previously seen only from a distance allowed by a firm hand.

Jim could do nothing with the sky or time, but at least soon he would be reunited with his masters. He was taught hard to obey orders and accepted the latest one - to come here on his own to have a Sunday dinner with Oswald, Julian and their step family. He didn’t ask questions - he remembered too well the answers to them written with marks on his back and buttocks, echoing with soreness in his throat and hole. He didn’t object to his duty to come alone, though being left like that felt more painful than any punishments. He hurried, walking fast in this strange pale darkness, across the invisible cliff towards the end.

The door of the house opened as soon as he reached the steps to it. Julian pushed it with his shoulder and looked at Jim from the top of the steps, the position he knew too well. Jim was taller than he, but what does the height mean when you’re kneeling? Julian held two glasses in his hands, filled with red wine. The shade of red was so deep it was almost black, as if the proper darkness that should have been around was trapped inside those glasses.

“You didn’t hurry, huh?” said Julian lazily. Jim froze in mid-movement, ascending the steps, pinned down with guilt. It was true, he didn’t pay much attention to actual time. No need to it anyway, he was always late in Julian’s opinion. Or too early.

Julian pushed one of the glasses in his hands and sipped from his own, smacking his lips. Jim noticed the strange smell that wine had, a rusty one as if it was stored in old cans rather than bottles. He drank a mouthful and squeezed his eyes involuntarily at the nauseating taste of wine, trying not to show his disgust in a more distinct way. The wine tasted as if it was made from fleshy grapes shaped like human kidneys, muscles instead of soft peel, blood instead of sweet juice. Jim swallowed the wine with great difficulty, his throat refusing to accept the horrible liquid. His glass was still almost full.

“Keep on. I want to see your glass empty”, said Julian, watching him. “And try not to throw up for your own sake or you’ll be licking everything from the floor.”

Jim finished the drink, ignoring the threatening signals of his body and pressed his lips together, swallowing saliva his mouth richly produced in small gulps. To distract himself from the sickening feeling he looked around, noticing the stillness and silence, unusual for the family dinner. No voices talking and laughing, no clacking of forks and knives, no crunching sounds of food being chewed and swallowed. The idea of eating something right now made Jim’s stomach contract painfully. 

Julian drank his wine in one noisy gulp and wiped away the crimson trail on his chin with a back of his hand. He squinted at the sight of his white skin soiled with red liquid, reached out for Jim’s shirt, unbuttoned it and rubbed the wine away with its white fabric. Jim looked at the new red brand on his shirt he ironed with such care today. Its shape reminded him of a bullet wound, right above his nipple.

“Good boy”, Julian patted his cheek, though any other man would call it slapping rather than any form of caress. 

“Come on, the dinner is served.”

The first thing Jim noticed about the dining room were, if course, the dishes - roast, a bit overcooked by the look of it, some parts of it black like charcoal. And then the smell overtook, the smell so much alike to the smell of wine he drank, bitter and beastly. There were only two persons at the table. A man and a woman. Alive and dead. The smell was coming from a dead woman, sitting awkwardly with her head bowed to one side in an impossible for a living creature way. There was just one wine bottle on the table. Why have several? The dead woman was another bottle, the macabre creation of a mad sommelier. Getting anything from it was obviously not very easy and the tablecloth, soaked with blood looked like a hell’s lake in candlelight.

Oswald noticed them and toasted with his glass, devilish waters from this lake glistening inside it. His face and hands were slicked with blood, too, a pattern of tiny red dots on his cheeks like a warpaint. Jim lowered his head in a greeting, unable to do it using voice, afraid to open his mouth. The waves of sour vomit came up his gullet, burning the back of his throat and threatening to escape his sick body. Julian suddenly slapped him between his shoulder blades and Jim had to bend in half and cover his mouth with his hand, shivering from attempts to suppress nausea. He breathed through his nose, hearing Oswald and Julian talking through the ringing in his ears.

“He behaves better than I expected”, said Julian with a smirk. “I thought he will puke after the first gulp.” 

“You exercised him well, didn’t you?” Oswald raised himself from the chair and leaned over the table to look Jim in the eyes. 

“You can control your body now, am I right?” 

Jim inhaled for the last time and straightened himself, swaying a little. He tried to avoid looking at Oswald’s glass, painted with greasy red stains like a canvas of surrealistic artist, afraid that his body could eventually let him down. He nodded. 

“Speak”, said Oswald firmly. 

He noticed that Jim’s glance was focused on the spot over his left shoulder and raised his glass higher. The liquid splashed with an awful wet sound, the sound of well-lubricated cock slipping out of an asshole. 

“Yes, you are right”, answered Jim and stifled a nervous yawn. He managed to push human words out of his throat, but didn’t dare to tease his gag reflex further. 

“Marvelous”, Oswald indicated him to come closer. 

Julian followed his steps like a prison guard, as if Jim could try to escape and run. As if. Jim walked towards Oswald until Julian pulled at his belt to stop him. This happened only when Jim was so close to the table his groin was pressed tightly to the hard wooden edge of it. Julian placed his hand on the small of his back and pushed hard, making Jim bend over the edge of the table. He kicked his ankles with the tip of his boot to acknowledge Jim he wanted him to spread his legs. Jim stared down at the soaked tablecloth, feeling blood oozing between his fingers, feeling it soaking his pants, feeling his scrotum pressed painfully to the hard wood. Julian kept him in place with his hand. He reached out with the other one and pulled at Jim’s hair to make him raise his head. 

“Meet our step relatives”, Oswald gestured in the direction of the corpse and roast-loaded plates before it. 

Jim cast a side glance at huge lumps of meat, brown and black on the outside, pink and pale on the inside, colors too unusual for pork or beef and had to clench his teeth and breath deeply the air, poisoned with smells of human bodies, one stiffening with rigor mortis, others cooked in the pools of their own coagulating blood. This time he started to hyperventilate, nausea hiding deep in his guts. 

“Do you like them?” asked Julian. 

Jim clawed at the bloody tablecloth to regain his balance and nodded desperately, dead woman coming in and going out of his unfocused sight, a limp body of female Saturn, tired of devouring her children. Oswald reached for the half-gnawed bone on the plate, slid his index finger across it, gathering grease and tiny bits of flesh and touched Jim’s lips with it, forcing its way inside his mouth. Jim felt it crawling inside, the taste of human flesh spreading upon his tongue like a venom. 

“Do you like them now?” Oswald stared at him, his finger still in Jim’s mouth. Jim didn’t dare to nod or speak and just blinked twice. Oswald pulled his finger out and stared at him in disappointment. 

“Poor choice. They were jerks. Bad things happen to bad people, if I may use that line.” 

Jim gave a jerk at this hint. He didn’t need to be reminded about Arkham and his betrayal. He remembered it well, like most things concerning Oswald. Like his own agreement to repentance. And his hope for forgiveness. 

“Oh no, he still has troubles standing still”, Julian remarked. He drew closer and started to whisper, whistling sounds cutting into Jim’s ears like blades of a scythe. 

“Well, you are still a guest. Want to know your hosts better?” 

Oswald stood back out of the way and Julian pressed on Jim’s head, making him lower it until his face was buried in folds of the tablecloth, in still waves of the blood lake. Jim felt it on his skin, on his face and neck, in his hair, when Oswald started to stroke them with bloody hands. He felt Julian tugging at his pants until they were put off him, freeing him from his shirt and the rest of his clothes. Jim felt himself able to raise his head a little and inhale some air before four hands took him by his elbows and dragged him on the table. The feeling of liquid under his naked body reminded him of the embarrassing times in his childhood, when he dreamed about swimming and woke up in wet pajamas. 

Oswald and Julian bent over him, faces outlined with shadows, so that they looked more like ritual masks of some fearful demons. Their hands moved across Jim’s body, covering it with crimson myrrh, rubbing the salty metallic smell deep into his skin. Soon it was everywhere, surrounding him like a shroud, mixing with sweat in his armpits, with the scent of shaving cream on his cheeks. Blood looked on him like second skin, dark, smooth, glistening. Oswald and Julian were careful to moisturize him with it everywhere, Julian pausing between his thighs to wrap his slimy fingers around Jim’s cock and stroke it harshly, rough movements not affected by the loads of improvised lube. Jim gasped, his cock hardening under his fingers. 

“Nice”, said Oswald, standing with his hands on Jim’s chest, his own erection touching his face through the fabric of his pants. He was slightly out of breath. 

“Which side?” 

“Back, I haven’t banged him for a while”, Julian replied, pulling out his cock and sliding his blood-covered palms over it. 

He dragged Jim a bit closer to him and spread his knees wider. Oswald took Jim by his chin and made him throw his head back, placing his cock right before his lips. Jim let him in, opening his mouth and swallowing, first the head going down his throat and then the whole cock sliding inside, blocking his windpipe. Jim managed to get some air each time Oswald slid out of him and that revived his senses and allowed him to feel everything properly. The blood drying out on his skin and sticking the hair on his head together. The softness of the fabric, when Oswald shoved his cock into his throat completely, pressing his groin to Jim’s face. The pulsating of his prostate as Julian’s cock hit it again and again, his thrusts harder than anytime before, lust heated up with violence. 

The sounds were obscure, his own swallowing and sucking ones, the moans, the growling, the great hell’s lake splashes, the creaking of the table, the loud thud the corpse’s head made when it fell face down into the roasted remains of other corpses. Julian sniffed, pulled out and jerked himself off violently to come over Jim’s inner thighs and opened hole. Then he laughed, supporting himself with both hands, hot forehead resting on Jim’s knee, extremely amused by the sight of the dead woman’s face buried in the plate. 

Jim missed the moment when Oswald came and choked on hot stream of his semen. Oswald still didn’t catch his breath and giggled hoarsely, looking in the same direction as his brother. 

“She was a drunkard”, said Oswald breathlessly. 

“I bet these two brats found her like that quite often.” 

Julian straightened up and wiped the tears from his eyes, inhaled to get rid of the laughter still bubbling in his chest and glared at Jim, spread on the table like an exotic dish, drops of come rolling down his cheeks and buttocks, his own load splattered on his belly. He didn’t feel his own orgasm coming, it was just another electric-like jolt, piercing him from the depth of his roughly penetrated body. 

“Did you like the dinner?” asked Julian in thick voice. They both stared at him, nodding awkwardly in his position and mouthing silent “yes”. 

“There were no actual food, though”, said Oswald thoughtfully. 

“Do you think we can find something appropriate for everyone here?” 

Julian shrugged casually. Jim looked at Oswald, waiting him to continue. Noticing it, Oswald smiled and tumbled his dirty hair. 

“You're hungry, right?” 

Jim smiled back. 

“Ravenous”, said he and giggled involuntarily.


End file.
